Mother
by MissAntelope
Summary: Sherlock and John are called to another case, but this one is different. Now Sherlock has another reason to solve this case. Not for the thrill: but revenge. T to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Alright, I just really want to write a mystery and have John and Sherlock solve it. Very badly want to. Warning: I see John and Sherlock as very close friends, therefore, there will be no shipping of Johnlock. Deal with it.**

John's POV:

I could already hear the vibrant violin playing from the upstairs window as I jumped out of the taxi with groceries in hand. I paid the cabbie and looked up. Sherlock stared distantly out the window as the bow moved rhythmically on the violin.

"Cup of tea would be grand." I said to Mrs. Hudson who was shuffling through the newspaper at her door.

"I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper, dear." She reminded me as my footsteps pounded up the stairs.

The violin sounded louder when I pushed the door open. Without turning around, Sherlock paused his playing to only ask who called.

"Sherlock, the phone's not ringing."

"It was fifteen minutes ago."

"Oh lord, I went out half an hour ago!" I put the milk and eggs in the refrigerator, being careful of the specimens that were cooling in a tuber ware jar.

"Well, who called?" Sherlock set the violin down and sprawled on the couch. I checked the voicemail messages.

_"Sherlock, there's been a murder at the library. It's quite peculiar and there's a message. I'm not sure but… You'd better come down."_ Lestrade's voice echoed out the address and a you'd-better-hurry tone.

"Detective Lestrade." I said and Sherlock jerked his head towards me.

"What does he want?"

"There's a new murder."

"_Beautiful!_" Sherlock announced and jumped up from the couch. He spun around on his heel once before retreating to his bedroom in the back. "Grab your jacket, John Watson. We have somewhere to be!"

I threw on my overcoat over my button up plaid shirt and Sherlock was already at the door.

"I have your tea."

"Not now Mrs. Hudson, murder is in the air!" Sherlock sang from the stairs below. I passed her on the way down the stairs. The old woman sighed and retreated back into her flat, the tray of tea still in her arms.

"Thanks anyways, Mrs. Hudson." I called back to her and met Sherlock at the curbside. He already hailed a cab. He slid into the cab and I sat down next to him. The cabbie started the car and headed towards the address I told him.

"There's been a murder, it's peculiar, and there's a message."

"Did Lestrade say anything else?"

"No." I said and looked out the window. It had started drizzling outside and the cab splashed a puddle of water on a bicyclist. I looked at Sherlock but he was absorbed with his phone.

Once we reached the library, it had already been sectioned off by yellow police tape. I paid the cabbie and we walked side by side to the front door. I had to take longer strides to match the detectives long legs.

"Freak's here, bringing him in." I heard Donovan say into a walkie-talkie. We walked into the library and Lestrade stepped inline with us.

"56 year old female. Found this morning a few hours ago. Cause of death is a poison that is unknown. Anderson has confirmed that the blood loss is post-modem."

"And the message?" I asked.

"It's a handprint in a child's book. A handprint of the woman's blood." Sally said.

"Ahh… Interesting." Sherlock mused and pulled ahead of Sally's pace. He walked quickly into the child's section but someone caught my arm. It was Mycroft.

"John, I…"

"Mycroft, what are you doing here?" I asked. The older man ran a hand over his face and looked white. "Are you alright?"

"For now, quite. But I'm not sure Sherlock is." He looked at the busy children's section where Sherlock had just disappeared to. There were policemen bustling about, taking evidence bags in and out.

"What-" I stopped myself when Sherlock appeared at my side. He looked whiter than usual and his arms were crossed, he gazed at the floor with empty eyes. "Sherlock, what is it?" Mycroft looked up at him with a saddened expression.

"Our mother." Sherlock said.

**A/N: Alright, so I don't really know where I'm taking this just yet but I want to have some fun with Sherlock and John! Have a wonderful day! My summer is finally here. Today was the last day and I'm loving it!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Alright. Here I go! Thanks for checking out my story, I appreciate it!**

John's POV:

Sherlock collapsed into the seat next to Mycroft and I could tell he was thinking. His palms were pressed together, pale blue eyes were closed and shoulders were hunched.

"Sherlock, you okay?" I asked. Mycroft sat motionless beside him. Sherlock ran his hands through his black curls.

"Why wouldn't I be?" He asked. "John, would you go tell me what you think of the crime scene? I need a second set of eyes please." Sherlock dismissed me with a wave of his hand and turned to Mycroft. They started talking as I hesitantly walked into the children's section.

The sight was horrible. Books were stacked on every shelf and there was a happy and cheerful tone to the brightly colored walls. As soon as I pushed through a crowd of police officers, I could taste the blood in the air.

The woman's skin was a pale grey and she was laying on the carpet, face up. She had thin and curly brown hair with heavy streaks of grey in it. She was thin and had long legs. Red stained the floor from a puncture wound on her shoulder. Next to the woman was an open book. On one page was writing and the other page was a picture of a big bad wolf and a little girl in a red hood. A bloody handprint stood out on the pages.

"What happened to Sherlock? He left in quite a hurry." Lestrade asked. He was crouched down by the body and going through the purse that was strapped to her side.

I nodded away his question and started to poke and prod at the body.

"Do we have a definite ID yet?" I asked and knelt next to the woman. Lestrade took out her wallet and shuffled through some credit cards.

"The woman is…" He held up the driver's license. "Oh god…"

"Who is the woman?" Donovan demanded.

"Emily Holmes." Lestrade looked up at her and then they both looked towards the exit of the child's section.

"There's a miniscule mark on her neck." Sherlock made me jump a bit. "Only logical conclusion: That is how the poison was administered." I saw Anderson look closer at the dead woman and cursed himself for missing that mistake.

"Sherlock, are you sure you want to be here?" I followed his stare at the dead woman.

"Yes. It's just another case." Sherlock said.

"This is your mother, though."

"I know." He said, almost defensively. The grey scarf around his neck was pulled tighter as he knelt next to the body. Sherlock swabbed the injection sight with something probably stolen from Anderson and slid the sample inside his coat pocket. He snapped a few pictures of the picture book and one of the entire crime scene. "That'll be it John."

As always, the tall detective snapped his coat collar up and waltzed out of the room. I ran to catch up. We strode in silence until we got outside the yellow roped off police investigation area.

"What did you get from the crime scene?" He asked as he raised his hand and hailed a cab.

"Not to much. The body was clean and the cause of death does seem to be the poison. I'd say she has been dead for at most 10 hours, maybe less" I slid into the cab next to Sherlock. "221 Baker Street please." The car shuddered with a jolt and pulled into traffic.

"Interesting." Sherlock looked out the window at the passing buildings. Raindrops started falling down the window, trailing streaked water with every second. His phone buzzed and he whipped it out of the pocket.

"What, no more 'lady sighs'?" I asked, trying to break the tension.

"Not now, John. Any other day, but not now." He said. I apologized but saw anger written on his thin face. His freehand was clenched and his jaw line was set.

"Lestrade?"

"No. The killer." He said in a low tone.

"How do you know?" I asked, now aware of the rain that was pelting the taxi rooftop. Sherlock turned to me with his eyes lowered. I could tell he was about to show off.

"Simple. When Lestrade went through her purse, the phone wasn't there. Nor in her coat pockets. It's another 'catch-me-before-I-kill-again' game. And boy do I love playing these games." His speech got quicker with every harshly pronounced syllable. "This is my mother's cell phone number. I never forget phone numbers. I may also jump to the conclusion because who would want a picture of a dead woman and her family on their phone?" Sherlock hands me the phone and I read the text.

There is an attached image of Sherlock's mother. It is a picture of a picture frame. She is sitting at a dinner table. Younger. Two teenage boys sit on either side of her. Their mother looks exactly like the one on the right, Mycroft. They share every single quality down to the shape of their eyebrows. Except her eyes. Her pale blue eyes match the pair on the other side of her. Younger Sherlock and his mother have the same look in their eyes, but Sherlock is gazing off to something outside of the camera. He is the only one not smiling. I can tell you that young Sherlock hasn't changed at all. Still tall, lean, and dark curly hair. Young Sherlock had his coat collar flipped up as usual.

Underneath the picture is a message that reads:

_London will be on fire tonight. Watch it burn, Sherlock._

_Mummy dearest sends love XOXO_

I wanted badly to say how dorky the brother's looked but withheld my joke until later. "What do you think this means?" The detective in the seat next to me was deeply thinking, his fingertips pressed on his forehead.

"This was a birthday party. A distant cousin turned 5 years old and he wanted to be a firefighter. My bloody aunt took the picture right as the firefighter cake was coming out." His fingers started rapidly dancing over the phone keys. "I'm forwarding it to Lestrade. My guess is the killer will try and find a way to burn something to the ground. My guess is that is the next murder."

"So, we need the fire department to send out teams to every part of London?" The cab pulled over and I paid him.

"Probable idea, John." Sherlock remarked and I opened the door to let Sherlock in to escape the rain and dreary clouds.

"Hello boys!" Mrs. Hudson smiled from her doorway. "I thought I heard the door open. How was the-" The old woman was cut short by Sherlock embracing her in a hug. She was quite a few heads shorter than the detective but she hugged back. It only lasted as second before Sherlock whipped away from her and took the stairs two at a time, his long coat trailing behind him.

"What was that all about?" Mrs. Hudson blushed and I squeezed her shoulder.

"His mother was the one at the crime scene." I said, my voice was hushed.

"Oh, dear." She sighed and looked at where Sherlock just ran off to. "Do you want me to bring up some tea?"

"No, I think I will try and talk to him." I assured and took to the stairs. As soon as I reached the doorway, a sad tune was being sung from the violin sitting in the crook of Sherlock's neck. It wasn't as sad as the melody played when Irene Adler supposedly died, but it still put a grim envelope over the entire flat. "Nice tune."

Sherlock barely even recognized my existence. The bow moved gracefully over the strings. Echoing off the walls and flooding the street below with the music.

It was about two in the afternoon but I wasn't that hungry. I made myself a sandwich anyways and scrolled through my computer. Saddening background music worked for the first twenty minutes before I was just about begging for a new tune.

I checked my phone and got a message from Lestrade.

_The fire department has all unit on patrol. Thanks for that. How's Sherlock?_

I told Sherlock about the fire department and he nodded, changed the song, and continued staring out the window.

**A/N: Alright. Yay, I love writing or this area, it's quite fun! Please read and review and have a wonderful day!**


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! Sorry for the delays. I'm on vacation this next week and won't be posting until I get back and my computer is _still _broken. No fun…

Sherlock's POV:

The moment I received that text from my dead mother's cell phone, shivers ran down my back. This wasn't a feeling I experienced before. It did not bode well with me though.

I handed the phone to John and he took it.

"What do you think this means?" He asked. I was staring out the window. The cabbie made a sharp left turn and threw John off.

I remember the picture frame. It sat on my mother's bedside table, angled away from her so she didn't have to stare at her children in the night. I told John about the birthday party for my cousin. Firefighter themed. It was terrible.

John and I conversed a bit about my theory about the killer striking again using fire. It was a long shot, but the message was more convincing. I sent Lestrade a forwarded message and would let him deal with it. I needed tonight to think about the crime scene.

We walked into the bottom floor of the flat and Mrs. Hudson was standing by her doorway. Judging by the dirt smudge on her forehead, she had just planted something, most likely the tulips that I saw on her kitchen counter. I was going to guess it would be 7 hours before the husband threw them out, him being allergic to flowers.

"Hello, boys." She said. I don't know what came over me but I wrapped my arms around her and hugged tightly. The old woman gasped in surprise and hugged my thin frame back. I tried to imagine she was my mother, but the pastel flowers on her dress were nothing my mother would wear. It was the same and familiar Mrs. Hudson.

My coat flicked as I ripped away and took to the stairs. Once I was at the top I heard the hushed murmurs of John and Mrs. Hudson. "_What was that… His mother… Bring up tea?… Try and talk…"_

I rolled my eyes and entered our flat. It looked different. A little more grey than last time, despite the bright colors. My violin leaned against the wall underneath the windowsill. I picked it up and plucked some of the strings. It vibrated in my hands and sent the notes through the entire flat.

I absorbed myself into the music that seemed to flow out of nowhere. John walked in and said something unintelligent like any other human being. I ignored him and continued to play the distant melody.

I zoned out, not even aware of the music I was making, or John's silent work in the arm chair. The window was calming. I could make my deductions about people below and maybe that would help distract me from the woman I saw lying on the floor this morning.

An old man was walking with a young girl. A granddaughter and he was obviously holding something back on his face. Something happy. A surprise, and judging from the hair on his pant legs, it was a tall surprise that barked.

A woman walked by and gripped the arm of a man. They walked slowly, but it was the man who was supporting her down the streets. The woman kept tugging carefully at her scarf tighter around her neck. She had just been released from the hospital and had surgery around her neck area. The scarf is there to hide the scar. The man was desperate for a smoke. I had seen and lived the signs for nicotine addiction. The man was _very _desperate for a smoke.

And so was I.

I set the violin down and looked at John. The small man glanced up with a frown, silvery hair glinting in the light.

"You alright?"

"Quite." I narrowed my eyes and forced smiled. He watched me as I sidestepped towards the bookshelf. Behind my copy of a biography on Nikola Tesla was a pack of nicotine patches waiting to be used.

"Sherlock…" John sighed when he saw what I was reaching for. "Please, you've been doing so well."

"Yes, I know." I retreated to my bed and sat on the edge. When I rolled up my sleeve, I ran a hand over my inner arm. It was soft. I placed two nicotine patches on the inside of my arm and laid down flat on the bed. The pillows gave me the impression that I was sinking into a sea of quilted folds.

The need for nicotine faded away as I listened to the comfortable silence around me. The door was closed and the light of the day slowly grew darker, and shadows from the curtains started to put a dull tone on the room.

In the hours that felt like mere minutes, I thought over the crime scene today but sometimes memories of my mother pushed forcefully in.

The folds in her jacket, the way her hair was blown to the side, the killers choice of Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf… Something must be there and I just don't see it. Why the choice of fire department? Serial killers keep patterns and don't stray. Unless the use of fire is a distraction…

_"Sherlock! Don't do that!" Mother says._

"Why not, mummy?" I ask, worms still squeezing their way through my fingers.

"Because you'll get dirty." She scolds. Her hand grabs my wrist and pulls me from the mound of dirt I was carefully inspecting. She knocks the clump of dirt out of my hand and pulls me to the car. I am thrown into the back seat with Mycroft sitting next to me.

"What are you working on?" I ask him. From the looks, it is a science textbook laying on top of an algebra textbook which was in mint condition. Judging by the edges it's the one he threw at the wall the other night. He doesn't like this one, yet the math textbook was treated with care.

"Nothing of your concern." He pulls something he is reading closer in his lap.

"Is it a note from Katie?"

"

Shut up, Sherlock!_"_

"BOYS." My mother calls from the driver seat as she makes a right turn towards our home and away from the park I was playing in.

"SHERLOCK!" John screams and bursts into the room. I sit up and look at John. The alarm clock said it was 9:40 PM.

"What do you want?"

"It's Mr. Hudson." He said. I looked past John and saw the old man behind us. He had a knitted sweater on, just like John and wore a flat cap.

"I saw someone put my wife in a car, forcefully." He coughed. "Then it drove off." He pointed down the road.

The anger bubbled inside of me as I thought of someone hurting my landlady.

"Tell me _everything._" I said sternly. The two followed me as I walked through the flat and grabbed my jacket and scarf. Mr. Hudson started telling as much as he could about the car, which wasn't much. It made me think that he needed a mind palace. It would make everything much easier. John would just shake his head.

"Are you going after them?" The old man asked.

"Of course. We are going to find Mrs. Hudson." John assured. "Do you have any bloody idea where they are taking her, Sherlock?"

"The fire department."

"How do you know?" John asked me. We started jogging down the stairs.

"Isn't it obvious? The warning about the fire is a distraction. He is going to kill again, using the fire department. Lestrade ordered the entire department on duty. Not a lot of people are at the fire department right now, I would assume."

"That is a long reach, Sherlock." John stood on the edge of the sidewalk with me and I raised a hand to hail a cab.

"As usual, John. You see, but you do not observe."

A/N: Yikes! That is a long stretch. I hope I did alright. Let me know if I need to work on something. Have a great day and sorry for the wait!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Alright, another chapter. I've been working on an original story, so that is part of the reason why I'm not updating regularly. If you're interested in reading my other story, let me know and I would be more than happy to send you a bit of it! Thanks : )**

John's POV:

I sat next to Sherlock it the back of the cab.

"Fire department, _now._" He told the cabbie. The car pulled into traffic and sped off quickly. The sky was dark under London, but the lights of the city were bright under the stars.

"So, what's the plan?" I asked. Sherlock's eyes were scanning everything inside and outside of the cab. I could see the deductions process in his mind, analyzing every single movement.

"Save Mrs. Hudson." He said in his deep voice.

"That's it?" I asked, quite surprised. Sherlock nodded and we rode the rest of the ride in silence. I wanted to ask Sherlock if he was alright, but I had the feeling he would yell at me like he did when we were in Baskerville. Whenever I stole a glance at him, he didn't seem different, but I knew he was.

We were a block away from the fire department and I paid the cabbie in advance. When the cab rolled to a stop, we were out in a flash and pushed open the doors to the fire department. The door swung on it's hinges and the lights were dim inside. There was a front desk and behind it was a security guard laying on the floor. Obvious signs of a struggle, but not dead.

Sherlock floated by and walked deeper into the building. Everything smelled clean and Sherlock's shoes tapped on the linoleum floor, echoing down the hallway. The lights at the end of the hallway were dimmer and our shadows eerily walked down the hall.

All the doors down the hallway were locked and closed except for the last one on the left. It was silent in the building, other than our footsteps and a stifled sob. Sherlock placed a hand on the door and pushed it open. I followed behind.

Before Sherlock could open the door all the way, someone pushed past us. Sherlock grabbed the dark figure by the shoulders but the man hit Sherlock square in the jaw.

My instincts kicked into action and I grabbed whatever I could of the man in the dim light. He struggled free from my rear bear hug and darted from my grasp.

"Boys!" I heard from inside the dark room.

"Go, John." Sherlock said and ducked into the room, his long, black coat trailing behind him. I did. My legs pumped hard to catch up with the man, but I had lost him. I circled the front desk and looked out the front doors.

_Shit_. I cursed under my breath.

"Sherlock, I lost him!" I called down the hall but before I could take another breath, something hard hit me in the back of the head. I crumpled to the ground with an _umph_ and a dulling throb in my head. Everything seemed so fuzzy, the tiles cool underneath my cheek. I blinked a few times and saw the dark figure dash out of the building, leaving the door swinging.

"_John!_"

"OFFICIAL PAGE BREAK*

When I came to, the first thing I felt was a sharp pain in my head. When I groaned and opened my eyes, a hand helped support my head.

"Sherlock, bloody hell."

"John, did you get a good look at the man?" Sherlock asked and gave me a hand to my feet. His pale blue eyes were startling.

"Give me a moment and let me think." My fingers trembled a bit as I rubbed the back of my neck. I was still in the front room. The man who was knocked out at the front desk and Mrs. Hudson were sitting on some plastic chairs in the corner.

"The police should be here any second." Sherlock looked out the window. As if on cue, I started hearing faint sirens.

"Are those two alright?" I pointed to our landlady and the lousy security guard.

"Fine. Fine." Sherlock nervously tapped his forearms. "Come look at this though." I followed behind his flailing coat to where we first saw the murderer. I cautiously entered the room and Sherlock flipped the light. It flickered a few times and I saw a chair with cut ropes draped over the back. It seemed like a small supply closet. A few brooms and mops were leaning up against the wall but the most eerie part of it all was the bloody handprint that stained the door we had just entered. Drips of crimson trailed down the wood and the long and slender fingers were obviously a woman. Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh God."

"I gave her my scarf to wrap around the cut. Her hand is wrapped up."

"What about evidence on it?"

Sherlock shook his head, examining a crevice by the floor. "She said he wore gloves."

The sirens were close now and I saw red and blue lights flashing along the hallway. "Sherlock?" Detective Inspector Lestrade hollered.

**A/N: I hate it when I'm busy in the summer time, no time to write! Enjoy : ) I just love Lestrade, so I had to put him in there : D**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks for the patience, anybody who is still reading this story : )**

Sherlock's POV:

Tufts of John's pale hair poked out from beneath a blanket that I threw on him. My partner curled up on the couch with is head on the pillow with the British flag on it and the tips of his toes poking out the bottom.

Before he fell asleep, he told me to wake him up every few hours, since he may have a concussion. I stretched on the chair with my robe loosely around my middle. My fingers tapped on the edges of the chair and my knee unsettlingly bounced to an unknown rhythm.

I was thinking, almost on overload that night. Words kept buzzing past my eyelids every time I closed them.

_ Mother_. The crime scene. I tried to pull as much from the crime scene as I could.

_ Mrs. Hudson._ I had already come to the conclusion that if he were attacking me, he would allow me to talk with him, as I have encountered before with other killers. Him rushing out of there tells me that this is not the end.

_ Texts._ My phone number is on my website, which is no surprise how the killer was able to contact me through my phone. Judging his ability to use modern technology, he is of the younger generations and can't be older than 45.

_ John._

"John." I spoke aloud and stopped my pattering fingers. "John." The doctor jolted upright on the couch.

"Sherlock, what…" He faltered and looked around the dimly lit room. John rubbed his eyes and asked what time it was.

"2 a.m. How are you feeling?" I got a moan in response.

"My _bloody_ head hurts. I'm going to walk around a bit." He said. "Want anything?" John started the kettle boiling and I heard biscuits hit an empty plate.

"Cup of tea."

_ Handprint_. Why in the children's book? What was he trying to say? The big bad wolf is the killer? He mustn't have heard of me.

John came back with a cup of tea and set it in front of me. He shuffled back to the kitchen for his tea and biscuits.

The tea was really hot so I only took a sip, and flipped open the newspaper for the tenth time that night, trying to find any connections to the last few days.

"Found anything yet?" John asked as I examined an ad for a run away cat.

I sighed. "No. Not anything." I folded the paper up again and set it on the table. I swiftly got up to the kitchen and messed with a few things. I peered into the microscope sitting on the countertop. Underneath the scope, the sample I had gathered from the library's crime scene, had not changed since I had last seen it.

I tried not to get angry that I couldn't see anything new, even though I felt like throwing something on the floor.

I decided to go back to see how John was doing. The shorter man had fallen asleep again, with half a biscuit in his hand. I finished the biscuit in his hand and haphazardly threw the blanket over him.

I picked up my violin and plucked a few of the strings. Maybe I could think more clearly if I messed around with the instrument for a while. I started playing a melody that seemed soothing to the normal ear. John rustled and threw a pillow over his head. I played for a few more minutes before I heard a moan.

Sighing, I set the violin down and let the night turn into day. Once the sun started shining through the windows of the flat, I woke up John for the last and final time.

I sent him to get dressed and told him we were leaving for the morgue.

"I want to examine the first victim's body."

"Sherlock, are you sure that's a good-" John rubbed the back of his neck and yawned.

"Get dressed." I didn't mean to sound threatening, but he backed up into his room.

We walked down the stairs, John taking it slow and careful.

"Boys!" I heard from downstairs. Mrs. Hudson moved with care, balancing a cup of tea and a sandwich on a platter. "John, I made you breakfast. How are you feeling."

"Grand." He smiled, took a sip of the tea and took a few decent sized bites off the sandwich.

"Are you going out?" She asked and smoothed her flower print dress.

"Yes. We'll be back later." I said and stepped out of the flat. I held my hand up for a taxi and the doctor stepped up next to me. I looked down on him, he looked up, licking his fingers from the sandwich.

"Molly Hooper?" He asked.

"Yes." A taxi rolled up to the curb and we slid into the seat. John told him where to go and the taxi pulled into traffic.

"What are you expecting to see?" John asked, resting his head against the back of the seat.

"Anything that would connect the murderer to me." I looked out the window. Instead of rain today, it was muggy and clouds drifted shadows onto the pavement.

"Why, you think that man is targeting you?"

"Exactly."

"Since when?" He asked. I opened my mouth to answer, remembering when my parents were threatened my only friends on my life. The rush of wind in my ears and the pounding of my heart throbbing throughout my entire body. The balls of my feet were hanging off the ledge and then the sensation that ripped my voice from my throat.

The cab driver turned on the air and I jumped. "Since when, Sherlock?"

"It's happened before." I said. John nodded and took it as normal.

"You do know the report said there was no evidence on the body?"

"Well, the reporter isn't _me, _isn't that right?" I said.

John scoffed and agreed with me. The cab ride didn't have much traffic, so we got there quicker than normal. I scrolled through my phone to check the recent news in the town. I paid the cabbie and we went into the hospital, heading for the mortuary.

I pushed open the double doors to the room that smelled like death and mystery and John followed.

"Molly Hooper! I need to see a body." My voice echoed throughout the motionless room.

On the first table closest to the entrance, a woman's body lay under a cloth. Judging by the height, size, and my memory, the body was my mother. I stopped a few feet away from the table.

"Molly?" I called again.

"Sherlock?" John asked from behind. I turned and his hands were trembling on a manila envelope with the name M. Holmes. My mother. John handed me the envelope and I turned it over.

Notes in Molly's loopy handwriting. _Gretchen Henry. 24 hours. Natural caus-_ the writing stops abruptly. A second set of letters, more of a chicken scratch. _Cup of tea, Holmes?_ The note, written in dried blood, sent shivers down my back.

"Come, John." I said.

"Where are we going?" John's voice was small, but he shook off the creeps and followed me out of the morgue.

"Molly has always wanted coffee with me. We are going to her flat." I said and caught a taxi outside the hospital.

**A/N: Alright, I am so sorry about not posting sooner, but you know how the beginning of the school year always is. **_**Not **_**fun.**


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